"38.7°C," He frowns, the amalgamation of concern and irritation etching lines on his face. As he delicately wipes your forehead with a cold, damp towel, the faint whine escaping your lips intensifies the furrow in his brow, deepening his worry.

"Are you deaf? I explicitly cautioned you against gallivanting with friends on a rainy day." A sigh escapes him, and he wrap his arm around your wrist, extending a supportive hand to assist you in rising. Drawing you close, your eyes shut, as if embracing or surrendering to his touch. A subtle blush tints his cheeks, an involuntary reaction to the sight of your flushed face and the audible rhythm of your labored breaths.